


Dean's Blue Heaven

by elliex



Series: Sanctuary Sequence [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bar, Reunions, human cas, plays loosely off S09 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:54:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean successfully spies on a human Castiel to make sure he's doing okay. But then Winchester blows his own cover. </p><p>Written for the SPN Prompt "Bars." This short loosely takes into account some spoilers for 9x03, so Cas has left the bunker because of Ezekiel, but Dean's guilt and worry have him spying on his friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean's Blue Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Last week's prompt response, "Sanctuary," precedes this one, so I've linked them together as a series. I don't think that you _have_ to read that one first, though. Also, "Dean's Blue Heaven" is meant to be more cheery than "Sanctuary." (Hope you agree!)
> 
> If future shorts fit along this arc, I'll link them too.
> 
> Hope you enjoy - thanks for reading!

\+ + + +

Dean pushed open the wooden door and stepped into Blue’s Heaven, which smelled a whole lot like the Roadhouse, complete with Ash's special blend of “bud, blood, and beer nuts.”

Standing in the doorway, he surveyed the surroundings. It was a small bar with wood paneling and really crappy lighting. A pool table, a dartboard, and a jukebox covered one wall; booths lined two others, and there were tables scattered in the middle. A large flatscreen descended from the ceiling near the bar. A narrow hallway to his right led back to the kitchen and the restrooms. 

A corner booth that would give him a view of the room was unoccupied. Pulling his Braves cap down, Dean headed straight for it. 

+

Three well-nursed beers later, Dean was considering giving up and heading back to the motel. If the bar had ever been crowded, it was waning now. Some regulars were playing pool (and man, his fingers itched with the desire to take their money). A few of the tables were occupied by small groups eating fried food and drinking pitchers of beer while they cheered on their football team of choice. The rare occupied booth was a hidey-hole of someone drinking alone. 

Someone like Dean. 

He tapped his fingers on the formica tabletop and chewed his bottom lip. Thing was, he didn’t _want_ to be alone. 

Who he wanted wasn’t here, though. 

He took out his wallet and pulled out some cash. He was laying the money on the table when the air charged – even the hairs on his arm rose. 

He looked up, and there was Cas, standing in the doorway, looking around. 

Dean slouched back into the corner of the dark booth, grabbing the money off the table and shoving it into his jacket pocket. He pulled down the brim of his baseball hat so that those seeking blue eyes wouldn’t find him.

He wasn’t entirely relieved when they didn’t. And something churned unpleasantly inside him when Cas’s eyes settled on a young woman sitting with a small group of people watching a football game. She waved at him, and he waved back, walking over to join the group. 

Dean bit the inside of his mouth and jerked at the sharp pain and the bitter burst of blood. He wanted to launch himself out of the booth, grab Cas, and take him home. _He can’t know I’m here_ , he reminded himself. So he remained frozen in his seat, waiting and watching. 

Carefully obscured by shadow, Dean motioned to the waitress and ordered a scotch. 

+

Cas had left in the wee hours of the morning because Dean had fucked everything up royally. 

For two days, Dean had holed up in his room, claiming illness. When he finally emerged, wan and weary, Sam simply made him some chicken soup and updated him on Kevin’s progress with the angel tablet.

No one spoke about Cas.

Every night, though, Dean texted Cas, asking if he was okay. And every night, when Cas didn’t respond, Dean booted up his laptop and ran searches until lights danced in front of his eyes. Most mornings, he woke up with one hand still on the keyboard, his head throbbing.

A month passed before he finally got a viable hit: A newly hired Cas Smith was working at a convenience store in Topeka. Dean hacked into a highway patrol camera at the nearby intersection and only had to review twelve hours of footage before he spotted a glimpse of Cas walking across the street. 

If Dean forgot to breathe for a minute, no one knew it but him. 

He’d wanted to jump out of bed, grab his duffel, and hit the road immediately, but he couldn’t. Zeke couldn’t know about any of this, so Sam couldn’t know either. 

So he lied. He told Sam that Mackey had phoned asking for back up on a wendigo hunt. Dean had been so antsy and tense lately that he was sure Sam would understand his desire for a physically taxing hunt, and he used Mackey’s name because Sam would remember that the older hunter had tipped Dean off about Emmanuel. 

Dean was right; Sam was fine with him expending some extra energy to help Mackey out. He offered to come along too, but Dean said for him and Kevin to keep cracking at those histories and translations. Sam said okay, and as far as Dean could tell, Zeke said nothing. 

Dean left the bunker shortly after dawn the next day and arrived in Topeka well before noon. He got a room and set to work scouting the area. He found the store where Cas was working quickly enough, but his friend wasn’t on shift that day. Since he was flying as low under the radar as he could, Dean didn’t want to pull any investigative tricks, so he went old school, stakeout style. 

It was a slower way to work, and it took Dean two days to suss out Cas’s routine. He was living in a boarding house and working at the store, and according to store receipts, he even frequented a nearby bar on a regular basis.

Dean had decided to start at the bar, believing he could check up on Cas without the other man ever knowing about his presence. He also believed that a drink or two would go a long way in helping him deal with the fact that he was _spying_ on his best friend -- the same friend he'd kicked out of the bunker.

So _here_ Dean was, while Cas was over _there_.

+

Dean watched Cas join the redhead and her friends, taking the empty chair that was facing Dean, smiling and speaking easily. His gut clenched – Dean told himself it was because he was drinking too fast, but deep down, he knew better. 

_He’s okay_ , Dean thought. _It’s good that he’s made… friends._ He downed his scotch, savoring the burn, and ordered another.

Cas ordered a beer and settled back into the hard-backed chair. Every so often, he would sweep his eyes around the bar, and Dean knew that the angel he’d fought side by side with for years was still in there, still the alert warrior. 

Once or twice, though, Cas’s eyes lingered a little too long on Dean’s little corner. Dean slouched even more, doing his absolute best to not posture like a man who’d trained as a soldier since childhood. 

What he really needed to do, though, was get the hell out of there. Now that he had seen with his own two eyes that Cas was okay, he felt foolish. _What am I doing?_ , he asked himself. _I can’t ask him to come home; I can’t tell him about Sam or Ezekiel._

Dean nursed his second scotch, refraining from knocking it back and ordering another. He had to be able to walk out of here – as soon as he could do so without Cas seeing him.

+

Dean was wholly miserable by the time the football game ended. For the last thirty minutes, Cas and the redhead had given up all pretense of watching the game and had just talked to each other. When the girl reached out and laid a hand on Cas’s arm, Dean’s vision narrowed; the suddenly-heavy air in the bar was suffocating. 

Dean rubbed at the furrow between his brows. _What’s wrong with me?,_ he wondered. _Of course women are attracted to Cas – I mean, just look at him._

_Just. Look. At. Him._

“Shit,” Dean muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. The truth of things hit him full-on…again. He wasn’t thinking of Cas like he did Sam or Kevin, where he thought they were good-looking guys who deserved hot-as-hell babes hanging off their arms. _This was Cas._ And the only person he wanted touching any part of Cas was… 

Dean slammed his empty glass on the table and bowed his head, taking deep breaths and trying to get a grip on himself. _Maybe they’ll leave soon, and I can get the hell out of here,_ he thought. 

He glanced up and saw Cas leave the table. _Oh, thank God,_ Dean thought. Once Cas headed down the hallway, he stood and tossed enough bills on the table to cover his drinks and a tip, and just a few long strides landed him at the door. 

He paused between the doorjambs and looked to his left, down the dark hallway. _You need to leave, Winchester…_

But he didn’t. 

Somehow, Dean found himself striding down the hall. Then he found himself standing outside the bathroom, the flat of his right hand against the wood door. He only hesitated a half-second before he pushed the door open and stepped inside. 

Cas looked up at the movement, his shocked gaze meeting Dean’s in the mirror. Without breaking eye contact, Cas finished washing his hands and reached for a paper towel. Then he turned and faced Dean. 

Dean was just staring at his friend; it was so weird to see Cas in jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. He just – He looked – Dean swallowed hard, watching Cas watch him, the other man’s confusion etched in his face. 

Somewhere between Cas tilting his head slightly and biting his lip in uncertainty, Dean closed the distance between them. His arms went around Cas and held him tightly. When Dean felt Cas’s arms slip around his waist, the dark tension that he’d been carrying unknotted. Dean tightened his hold on Cas, walking his friend backwards until he was pressed against the wall. Dean slipped a hand along the back of Cas’s neck before sliding it up into his hair. He leaned back and looked into the blue eyes that had haunted his dreams for years. His eyes dropped to Cas’s lips, and without thinking, Dean crushed his mouth against them.

Cas groaned, pressing back, and Dean tongued his way in; their tongues surged together, the undulations leaving Dean breathless. When Cas adjusted his body so that they fit flush, the sensation damn near undid Dean. He instinctively moved against Cas, and – _holy hell_. If he wasn’t careful, he would ruin his jeans, just like a teenager. Judging by Cas’s moan, he was struggling with the same. 

His breathing ragged, Dean pulled his mouth from Cas’s swollen lips and rested their foreheads together. Dean ran a thumb lightly across Cas’s light stubble; his other hand still cradled the back of Cas’s head. Warm hands that had wormed their way under his jacket splayed across Dean’s back, their heat burning through the fabric of his t-shirt, igniting his skin. Dean clenched his jaw, trying to control himself, to resist giving into what he _really_ wanted to do. 

“Cas,” he said softly. Cas opened his eyes to meet Dean’s gaze – Dean wanted to say more, but he didn’t know how, didn’t know what. 

He was going to kiss him again, was going to say _something_ meaningful, when one of the regulars, a big guy in a camouflage coat, came barreling in and saw them. Dean steeled himself against what was likely coming, but all the man said was, “Get a room, assholes.”

Dean and Cas disentangled. Without the pressure of Cas’s body against his, Dean was able to think again. _Shit, shit, shit,_ he thought. _What are the odds this_ hasn't _made things worse?_

He turned and left the bathroom, walking straight down the hallway and leaving the bar. Outside, he breathed in a gulp of cool night air. Without turning around, he knew that Cas had followed him, and they stood for a moment – not touching, not speaking, and not looking at one another.

Cas was the first to break the silence. “Why are you here?,” he asked. Dean glanced over, noting that Cas was staring off into the night, his arms folded across his chest. 

“I – uh – I wanted to check on you,” Dean admitted, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“Check on me?,” Cas asked, standing up a little straighter. Dean heard the irritation in his tone, and his own frustration flared. 

“Yeah, _check on you_ – it’s not like you’re an expert at being human.” He clenched his fists by his sides and turned to glare at his friend. 

“And you are?,” Cas asked, one eyebrow cocked in the way that had always infuriated Dean. 

He sputtered, retorting, “Well, I’ve been human longer than you.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re any better at it than me,” Cas muttered. “Go home, Dean. I’m fine.” He walked away from Dean, back to the door of the bar. 

“Cas –”

“Go home, Dean.” Without looking back, Cas pulled the door open and went back inside. 

Dean stood stiffly; his hands clenched, and his jaw working furiously. 

A moment later, though, the fight and the fury had evaporated, and he shrank into himself. He shoved his hands into his front pockets, and hunching his shoulders, he started towards his car. 

+

Dean had parked the Impala in an inconspicuous lot two blocks down. The cool evening air helped clear his head, but even so, he sagged against the driver’s door and folded his arms on top of the car, where he rested his head. The car’s solidity was reassuring.

 _I just keep fucking things up worse,_ he thought. He leaned his forehead against his arm and tried to focus on anything else but how wretched he felt – Baby’s metallic smell, the pungent odor of concrete-soaked gasoline, the faint hint of cedar from the fresh mulch of a nearby building. 

Despite all of his honed reflexes, the hand that clamped down on his shoulder startled him. Being spun around and pressed up against Baby’s cold, hard shell by a furious length of muscle and bone shocked him to his core. 

His arms were immediately pinned on either side of him, so he used his body to push against whoever was holding him fast. But then he realized who it was - those burning blue eyes could only belong to one man. 

Dean immediately dropped his defensive maneuverings and stood there, waiting. 

Cas said nothing for an uncomfortable span of seconds, his eyes boring into Dean’s. 

Dean shook his head back and forth and said in a throaty voice, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?,” Cas asked, his voice rough. 

“For – uh – for everything,” he finally choked out. “I didn’t want you to leave, Cas. I want you home, but…” He trailed off, and swallowed hard. “There’s – uh – something, something that I did.”

 _“What did you do?_ ,” Cas demanded.

Cas had _that look_ on his face, the look that promised Dean twenty questions and an ass-kicking for his trouble. Dean shook his head, pre-empting the interrogation. 

“I can’t tell you anything – I want to, really,” Dean said. “What I’ve done… I’ve fucked everything up.” He pressed his lips into a thin line, misery in his eyes. “I don’t know if I can fix it this time, if I can fix anything. But I’m going to try.”

A hand lifted his chin, forcing him to meet his friend’s eyes. Anger was no longer their primary illumination; there was also something that Dean couldn’t yet name, something that sparked a spreading warmth throughout his body. 

When Cas claimed Dean’s mouth, it wasn’t romantic or sweet. It was bruising – lips clashing, tongues sparring. Cas holding his chin in the vice of his fingers, and Dean’s hands clamping onto Cas’s waist. 

Cas was the one to break the kiss. “Figure your shit out,” he growled against Dean’s mouth. He kissed him once more, hard and fast, before stepping away. Cas met Dean’s eyes with a look that promised much – though much of _what_ , Dean wasn’t quite sure. Then Cas turned around abruptly and walked back in the bar’s direction. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered, sagging against his car. He opened the door and collapsed in the driver’s seat. _How_ am _I going to fix all of this?_ , he wondered. He adjusted the rearview and saw his face – flushed cheeks, swollen lips, a faint bite mark on his neck. He couldn’t quite believe that he and Cas had… um… _well._ Done _that._ The sensation of Cas’s body ghosted against his, and elation rippled down his spine – He could _still_ taste Cas, _still_ feel the stubble against his neck, _still_ smell his aftershave…

Putting his car into gear and navigating her onto the road, Dean steeled himself against whatever hurdles lay ahead. He _would_ put things to rights somehow. 

He had even more to lose now if he didn’t. 

+

Dean got back to the motel and while his mind was definitively _not_ on sleep, he knew that he needed at least four hours before heading back to Lebanon. He lay on the bed, toying with his phone, finally sending the same text he’d sent every night for the past five weeks: 

“u ok?”

This time, though, he got a response: “yes”

It was a single word, yet it meant everything to Dean. With shaking hands, he sent a reply:

“g’night cas”

Seconds later, his phone buzzed again: “g’night dean”

Dean was still smiling when he fell asleep. 

+


End file.
